


Dark Sprawl

by FandomN00b



Series: Gifts and Prompts [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Thedas names and places and ideas with a modern earth times reskin, dystopian Walmart parking lot, post-Internet zombie techno sprawlpocalypse AU, shoving all my current dystopian anxieties into this one, somebody broke the Internet, then came the zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: This is sort of a reskinning of Dragon Age: Origins (and beyond) in a near-futurish dystopia where the Internet is sort of like the Fade, and the Blight is sort of like a zombie plague with mysterious technological implications. Oh, also, the setting is just, like, abandoned suburban wasteland (hence, "dystopian Walmart parking lot")...cuz that's the most grimdark aesthetic I know.
Series: Gifts and Prompts [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636435
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Dark Sprawl

**Author's Note:**

> Just over a century ago, at the height of connectedness in the Digital Age, as the utopian dream of open universal access to high-speed wireless Internet and mobile “cloud” computing looked to become a reality thanks to the efforts of a few powerful philanthropreneurs who consolidated their ownership of the Internet, pooling their unimaginable wealth, power, and proprietary technologies into establishing something they called The Network™, _someone_ broke the Internet. Like, really seriously broke it, abruptly cutting off access to everyone, and plunging the world into another dark age. 
> 
> Since then, a series of devastating viral plagues have made it difficult to rebuild any sort of widespread infrastructure to replace what was lost in the crash of The Network™. Each province in Thedas is responsible for recruiting and maintaining a special Plan 8888 Civil Defense Corps, nicknamed the Four8s, who volunteer to get Inoculated with a slow-acting form of the Sprawl virus so that they might be able to fight and eradicate the plague from the inside out, so to speak.
> 
> Superstitions abound about the mysterious connection between the virus, which turns people into ghoulish Sprawlers, seeking only to spread the virus and whatever death and destruction they can bring with it before dying a gruesome death, and the emergence of people known as _Links_ , those who were born after the crash with a seemingly organic connection to the Network and each other. They wield special powers of connectivity and an ability to channel and project transphasal energy pulled from the Network, but are believed to be more susceptible to corruption due to their connectedness. All those who exhibit signs of strong connectivity are almost immediately placed in long-term (often permanent) residential Facilities and assigned specially-trained Counselors to better understand and monitor their powers.
> 
> Neria Surana is a Link, born after the last Sprawl ended just under 20 years ago, and up until quite recently, she had spent most of her life in a Facility. She and Alistair are the last surviving Four8s in Ferelden, after a disastrous battle at an abandoned shopping mall in Old Ostagar saw the rest of their unit fall to the Sprawler horde, and what remained of the provincial army retreat under General Loghain's command.

Alistair had been told that Conobar & Sons Funeral Home was old, and that those who ran it were somewhat eccentric, that it had been there since before the crash of The Network™, passed down through multiple generations. But now that he saw it, it looked like it might have actually been there since before the _Internet_ had even existed, with its gaudy columns molded in crumbling stucco-covered concrete and an oversized sagging pediment hanging over the drive-up entryway. The eclecticism was further emphasized by a large, busted-out, octagonal window to nowhere stuck right in the middle of it, seemingly hovering like a giant segmented eyeball. The empty dome on top of the roof seemed to have been slapped there as an afterthought, as if the building itself had demanded something else be added on to try and prove its importance, with no regard for scale or function. It reminded Alistair a lot of the architecturally-overstuffed entrances at the ruins of the Ostagar Mall. Both were a far cry from the sleek, clean-lined, no-longer-”Smart” buildings left behind by the Digital Age at its unforeseen zenith, lingering ghosts of the promise of a new age of utopian connectedness.

At some point, he supposed, the building might have represented _some_ accumulation of wealth or prestige or importance for its owner-operators, Conobar and his sons, presumably, or its patrons, but that time seemed long past now. It was a wonder that it had survived the past century of apocalyptic upheaval still intact, even just barely.

“Thanks for coming along with me,” Alistair said, turning back to Neri with an apologetic grimace before reaching for the old door. The glass in it had been replaced by plywood at some point recently enough to suggest _someone_ was still using the building. That, and the “still open” message scrawled across it in glossy black spraypaint.

“Pfffft! As if I wouldn’t have? I’ve got fuck-all else to do, and I know you had a total crush on the dude or whatever…and everyone else you know is dead or, like, in a coma, or a total fucking asshole, so...”

“That’s _not_...no.” He shook his head. “It’s just...nevermind,” he huffed. He knew she wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings. He’d quickly realized that Neria’s filter was practically non-existent, and there was a lot he still hadn’t told her about himself, his family history, and all of _that_. What she’d said wasn’t completely untrue, but... “We’re doing this as a favor for Governor Anora.”

“Uh-huh. Too busy to bother planning her dead husband’s funeral? Seems a _bit_ suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“No. No, it doesn’t. She’s bunkered down in quarantine, remember? Because of the...” he waved his hand at the horizon behind them where dark smoke still billowed up in the distance from the fires they’d set around the ruins of the mall to try and contain the horde of infected ghouls that had swarmed the place and overtaken the rest of their unit of Four8s along with a sizeable chunk of the provincial army before General Loghain had ordered the retreat.

She put a hand on his forearm and squeezed, her thin bony fingers digging almost painfully into muscle as he tensed up at her unexpected touch. It wasn’t particularly warm or comforting, even though he could tell she was trying, and it wasn’t entirely her fault, he supposed, that he found her so strange and unnerving at times. The Facilities weren’t exactly known for producing well-adjusted adults, and while he hadn’t ever really known a lot of other Links, having only met a few during his abandoned Counselor training, they’d all seemed at least a little bit weird. 

But Duncan had seen something worthwhile in her when he’d given her a chance, and Alistair trusted his decision, and she was all he had left that even came _close_ to a friend at this point. And anyway, she hadn’t tried to use her strange abilities against him or anything...that he knew of... _yet._

Neria stared at him, her face carefully composed into an unsettlingly intense glare of solemnity and determination this entire time. “Just know that I’m here for you, Alistair.”

“Okay…” he nodded hesitantly.

“What _ever_ you need. You hear?”

“Yes…”

“If you need me to negotiate pricing with these vultures, I can do that. We can even offer to do the cremation ourselves. All we really need is the fancy box or plaque or whatever.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Well, it’s not like _you_ have any money, either, right? Or are you holding out on me? Are you related to the Governor or something?”

“What?! No!” He responded far too quickly and Neria’s eyes narrowed on him slightly. “Can we just go inside and speak to the funeral director, or...whoever?”

“Yeah, fine.” Neria shrugged, her face switching back to its usual unreadable expression.

…

The funeral home somehow managed to look even more rundown and outdated on the inside than on its dilapidated exterior. As they walked in cautiously, searching for any signs of life, Alistair realized that an old creepy funeral home in the mostly-abandoned sprawling outskirts of Old Ostagar might not have been the best place for them to be, considering the infected horde they’d just barely managed to escape.

But he couldn’t sense any Sprawlers here. He looked wordlessly over to Neria, who shrugged. She, apparently, couldn’t sense any, either. It had only been a few days since her Inoculation, and he couldn’t quite remember how long it had taken for that to kick in for him...or for it to make any bit of sense, at least, amid the ravenous fevers and the ghoulish nightmares. But she seemed to be handling all of that far better than expected. It was possible she was just better than him at sifting through the monstrous voices in her head.

“Do you suppose they’ve left because of, well, you know?” She stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes back in her head and started moaning incomprehensibly, a dead ringer for one of the countless Sprawlers they’d just trapped behind a ring of fire.

“This place is sort of legendary for being willing to survive pretty much anything…” Alistair murmured, halfway between amused and unsettled by her impersonation. “But yeah...maybe? Let’s just have a quick look around to be sure.”

As they proceeded past the unused waiting area, toward the main hallway lit by a single long fluorescent tube buzzing loudly like it had been on its last legs for months now, Alistair stopped suddenly in front of an open doorway. He put his hand out behind him to stop Neria, who was too distracted by some kind of mold or fungus growing along the edges of the ceiling to notice.

“Huh?” she grunted as she collided abruptly with his arm. She drew her eyes slowly away from the ceiling to the room. “Oh.”

In what appeared to be some kind of office, a large faux mahogany desk stood, taking up most of the little square room with its oversized workspace and overhead cabinets. The room seemed to be overflowing with old yellowing papers and file folders stuffed haphazardly into filing cabinets and every other spare nook and cranny not taken up by the imposing furniture. Behind several piles of “unfiled” paperwork, there was a young, dark-haired woman leaning back in a beaten up fake leather executive office chair, also ridiculously big for the size of the room. Her thick-soled black boots were kicked nonchalantly up on one of the only cleared-off spaces in sight, and she had some kind of device in her hand that she was absent-mindedly tapping at and scrolling through. 

Neria could sense the device’s connection to a larger network, but refrained from trying to link up with it herself. Establishing a closed, local connection with the self-contained and heavily-defended network of the sterile Facility computers was one thing...connecting with another Link out in the wild seemed risky, even for her. She imagined Cullen congratulating her on her restraint and recognition of “appropriate boundaries.” And Jowan shaking his head at her for missing an opportunity to try out her skills now that she was finally out of that wretched, stifling place.

“ _What_?” the woman at the desk asked, sounding annoyed that anyone had dared to bother her. 

She was around the same age as the two of them, though she seemed to be wearing lots of dark eye makeup to try and hide the fact. Her tight black jeans, torn and faded on purpose, and her loose net shirt hanging perfectly-slouched off of one shoulder to reveal a dark burgundy bra strap betrayed her false apathy, as well. 

But her spiky golden collar necklace reminded Neria of scrapping with her parents as a little girl. “Vintage costume jewelry...” her mother had explained to her when she’d picked something similar out of the scrap pile with a look of awe and wonder like she’d found something _truly_ valuable amid the heaps of old electronics. “You can keep it. It’s practically worthless.”

 _Worthless trinkets._ A voice that wasn’t Neria’s or her mother’s chided her in her head.

The woman behind the desk seemed to fix her eyes on Neria for just a moment, a glimpse of recognition snapping itself into some kind of shared consciousness between them. Then, as quickly as her eyes had flickered over her, she withdrew again, returning her attention to her device while Neria blinked, continuing to stare blankly at her necklace.

“Yes, er...we were wondering about making some arrangements. For a friend. Who died recently in the...” Alistair nodded toward Ostagar, but the young woman seemed unmoved.

“He _was_ a fairly important person,” Neria chimed in, trying to be helpful. “Do you have a discount for that?”

“ _Neri_ …” Alistair groaned, shaking his head.

“Ah, yes.” There was a hint of something new in the young woman’s face as she looked up at them again. Amusement? Intrigue? Loathing? Whatever it was, it was better than the cold contemptuous indifference she’d been trying so hard to show them up until this point. “The ‘fairly important person’ discount...let me just look that one up.”

She kept her golden eyes on Alistair now, a tiny hint of half of a smirk as she smashed the keys of a dusty yellowed keyboard that didn’t appear to actually be connected to anything. “Oh, how strange. It seems that was only for a limited time. As in, while the person was still alive. And thus, still important.”

Neria seemed to consider this for a moment. “Huh.” Then she shrugged, looking up at Alistair. “I mean, we tried, right?”

“ _Anyway_ ," Alistair continued. "His body is currently…”

“Dismembered,” Neria interjected, nodding emphatically.

Alistair turned and gawked at her in disbelief for only a moment, before shaking his head as if he could ever shake the horrific images she'd just so casually conjured up back out of his mind. 

“But we would still like to arrange a small funeral?” he said, turning back pleadingly to the young woman behind the desk. “To honor him somehow, and help lay his soul...to rest…? Or to help it pass over to…” he trailed off, unsure where he was even going with this.

He had noticed the woman’s left eyebrow raising higher and higher the longer he rambled and it remained there, arched in condemnation as she asked, “So what do you expect _us_ to do about it?”

“Aren’t you...a funeral home?”

“I mean...I _guess_ …” She sighed, then pushed a button on an old telecom console in front of her. “Motherrrr…”

“What is it, girl?!” a voice crackled over the speaker.

“Customers...I think?”

“Send them back to me, then.”

There was a harsh click, and the young woman’s attention returned to her device.

Neria elbowed Alistair after a few moments and he cleared his throat.

“She will meet with you in the trailer out back,” the young woman drawled, somehow rolling her eyes at them without even looking up. She lifted her bare shoulder to indicate roughly which direction they might proceed.

“Thanks!” Alistair chirped. “We’ll find it!”

He hastily pulled Neria by the arm out to the hallway, in the direction of the harshly glowing EXIT sign, and then pushed through the rear emergency door, which, to the surprise of no one, was already disarmed.

There was, indeed, a trailer out behind the main building of the funeral home. It looked slightly less disheveled than the rest of the place, like it had maybe been moved there sometime in the last few decades, at least, and lacked the dated frills of the main building. It seemed to be the most functional part of the entire complex, with its own sizable power generator and the ability to be secured and...mobile, should the need ever arise.

Alistair looked at Neria, whose brow was furrowed irritably against the sudden brightness of the midday sun, something she _was_ still getting used to. He nodded his head toward the door questioningly, and she nodded back, mimicking him perfectly. He threw his hands up in exasperation, but also to help shield her eyes from the sun’s glare.

“Do you think we should just...open the door?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know...it just feels a little -- “ but before he could finish voicing his hesitation, the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

Alistair peered inside, surprised at how spacious the trailer seemed, and saw an older gray-haired woman, seated at a small modular table, sipping from a mug.

“Come in. I assure you I don’t bite,” the woman chuckled, and Alistair could’ve sworn her golden eyes, the same color as the woman inside, blinked sideways. “Though I suppose that’s what a Sprawler _would_ say if they could speak or were intellectually capable of such a ruse.”

“Er... _thank_ you?” Alistair stammered.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. We don’t really have a lot of -- ”

“Yes, please!” Neria grinned, peeking around Alistair’s bulky frame.

The old woman stood up and made her way to the electric kettle on the counter, flicking it on as she reached up into the cupboard above for a mug. “So then...what brings you to us in the middle of a plague? Death records? Genealogical curiosity?” 

She turned back and winked at Neria, whose eyes were darting all around the trailer, taking inventory. Outlets and power strips lined the edge of the opposite countertop, with cords plugged into nearly every available spot, and connected to an impressive array of different devices. There was a desktop computer set up at the other end of the trailer, similar to the ones at the Facility, but also laptops, tablets, smart phones...many of which Neria had only ever read about or seen in various states of disrepair in the back of her parents’ salvage truck as a little girl. Mobile computing had sort of lost its appeal when The Network™ had crashed and people had been forced to transfer files through local wired connections or portable storage devices and rely on land line phones again for communication...but all of _these_ devices seemed to be connected to _something_ bigger than a typical local area network.

The old woman handed Neria a mug from the overhead cabinet and nodded toward the kettle, then grabbed one of the laptops from the other counter, before sitting back down at the little table and smirking at Alistair. “I’m sure you will find that our databases here are _far_ more complete than any other in Thedas.”

Neria gasped, “Your devices are. _..linked_ ,” making no attempt to contain her excitement. “To the Network?!”

“Not to ‘ _The_ Network, TM,’ per se...but _a_ Network...” Her eyes drifted upwards and Neria followed them to the ceiling where that same weird-looking mold she’d noticed inside seemed to be growing out here as well. It appeared to follow a more consistent pattern here in tight spiraling fractals, and looked somehow... _cultivated_ , to spread evenly like a wallpaper or painted accent border which framed the entire length of the trailer.

“So then you're a…” Neria’s eyes grew wide and she beamed back down at the old woman sitting in front of her again. 

It was the most honest and effortless display of emotion Alistair had seen from her in the few tumultuous days he’d known her, and he might’ve been excited for her if the whole idea of being surrounded by so many devices connected to some alternative dark Network, controlled by a mysterious old woman with yellow sideways-blinking eyes who had somehow avoided not one but several plagues in her moldy rundown trailer didn’t creep him out a bit.

“I understand why you might make that assumption, child. You met my daughter, yes?”

“But you’re so _old_!” Neria had never heard of a Link living past forty in the Facility, and they were fed all kinds of statistics about how their average life span decreased dramatically the moment they stepped outside of one. But _this_ woman…

The tea kettle dinged, and the old woman looked at Neria’s mug expectantly as the girl moved to pour the hot water into it, careful not to burn herself. There was a wooden box of tea bags next to it, with all manner of exotic-sounding flavors like “orange spice” and “lemon lift” and “green…” but Neria, who had never had a sip of tea in her life, chose the most boring sounding one, “earl grey,” and tore the whole packet open, dumping the ground up leaves directly into her mug.

Alistair swallowed, shooting Neria a worried look before glancing back at the old woman apologetically.

She merely smiled at him and nodded back at the girl still staring at her in wonder as she sipped her hot, detritus-filled water with an odd sort of reverence. “Indeed I am. _Quite_ old, in fact. I dare say ancient.”

Alistair cleared his throat and Neria blinked, the awe vanishing from her face. Alistair felt a bit guilty at that, but they really didn’t have all day to swap mysterious, cryptic clues about the nature of the Internet and their special connections to it. The Sprawlers who hadn’t burned up in the fires they set would have probably figured out another way out of the Mall by now, and they would be shambling aimlessly around the abandoned suburb soon enough, making recovering Cailan’s body considerably more difficult.

“Oh, yeah...I forgot,” Neria said. “We’re here about a funeral for his boyfriend.”

“He _wasn’t_ my…”

“I _see_.” The old woman closed her laptop and leaned back a bit in her chair, fixing her eyes on Alistair now. “Well, well...let me put on my mortician’s cap, then.”

“Um, isn’t that your main business here?” Alistair asked, feeling a strange tingling sensation at the back of his neck as she continued staring at him, a tiny smirk twisting the corners of her mouth. If he had thought Neria’s focused stare had been unnerving, this woman’s attention was something else entirely...eerie and _invasive_.

He felt Neria shift next to him and he turned to look at her. She was glaring just as intensely back at the old woman, a sudden protective snarl across her lips, and then...almost as quickly as it had developed, the tension between the three of them was gone, and the old woman smiled, a kinder gentler smile, somewhat forced, but certainly easier to endure than the feeling of her peering into his soul. 

“Not so much anymore,” she explained. It took him a few seconds to remember that he’d even asked her a question. “People don’t like to take risks with the dead these days. No coffins, no burials, no waiting for viewings or visitations or memorial services. A quick, unceremonial cremation is usually preferred.” She sighed. “But it’s a _family_ business, inherited from my late husband. And I just can’t bring myself to part with the place. So many fond memories...I’m sure _you_ understand.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, and he didn’t care to ask for fear it might mean another uncomfortable staring contest.

“I fear Morrigan will not have the same sentimental nostalgia for it, and as soon as I’m gone, I’ve no doubt she’ll try to sell it and use the money to buy something shiny and absurd. That girl certainly loves her trinkets.”

“Morrigan?”

“My daughter...the one who sent you back here? I don’t suppose she introduced herself, did she?” She rolled her eyes and the family resemblance couldn’t have been more obvious. 

Alistair and Neria both resisted the urge to point out that the old woman hadn’t really introduced herself, either.

“Wretched, insufferable child... _but_ strong-willed, and smart as a whip.” It was hard to tell by the way she was talking if she hated or admired her.

“Oh.”

“Indeed.” She nodded at them. “I will handle all of the arrangements for your friend. But you must take my daughter with you to retrieve the body, in whatever state it is in. It is experience out there in the world that she quite desperately needs. I will consider you putting up with her as payment.”

“What?” Alistair stood there a bit dumbfounded. What kind of arrangement was this? No wonder the place looked like it was falling down if this was the kind of business the woman ran.

She pursed her lips impatiently. “Take Morrigan with you, bring me back the body of your _friend_ , and I will handle the funerary rites, the cremation, and I’ll even tie the ashes up with a pretty little bow if you wish, all free of charge.” 

Alistair really didn’t like the way she looked at him when she emphasized the word _friend_ , but she couldn’t have possibly known about his familial relationship to Cailan. It was a well-guarded secret, and he hadn’t even told her his name, let alone the name of the deceased or his relationship to the Provisional Governor of Ferelden.

“Why?” he asked.

“She needs to see how miserable the rest of the world is, full of stupid humans who ignore the true evil from which these plagues emerged in order to pursue short-sighted mortal goals of wealth and power and _property_. I have sheltered her, it seems. Spoiled her rotten here in this safe, insulated space I’ve carved out for us. I’ve tried to harden her without breaking her like I was broken.” She glanced out the window, her eyes drifting toward the smoldering horizon. “But it seems she needs to experience _some_ horrors for herself.”

Neria could understand that last part, at least. “We’ll do it.” She slammed her mug down and extended her hand out to the old woman, a very businesslike determination on her face.

“Wait a minute, Neri...can we talk about this? In private?” Alistair murmured.

Neria looked slightly embarrassed, withdrawing her hand almost as forcefully as she’d offered it. “Oh, _private_? I don’t think…” She glanced up at the ceiling again.

“You’d have to go pretty far for that. Not sure the Sprawlers would give you much privacy, either.” The old woman laughed. “What is the source of your hesitation?”

“Well, she’s not even Inoculated, for one. The Four8s are _not_ an escort service for people who wish to gain some ‘life experience’ in order to build character or learn gratitude or whatever it is you hope she gets out of this ridiculous ‘adventure.’ We exist to eradicate the plague, by whatever means...”

Neria caught herself smirking as he began to recite their ridiculous oath. All these men and their oaths. She wondered with amusement if Sprawlers had some kind of unintelligible oath, too. “Mrrraaaaahhhh...eat brains...spread plague...brains...plague...shamble shamble shamble…” At least it would probably be honest and straightforward.

“If you can get past her abrasiveness, you may find her to be quite useful to you. And we have managed to successfully fend off the Sprawl here thus far…” The old woman smiled with more than a little smugness. “I would encourage you not to underestimate her."

Neria turned toward him. “Alistair, I think it makes sense. We need help, right? And what doesn’t kill someone, can only make them stronger? Isn’t that one of our principles or whatever?”

“Whose side are you on, Neri?”

“What’s this about sides, young man? Haven’t you realized yet that there are no sides? Only the will to survive. Everything else either increases or decreases your capacity and your chances to do so.”

Alistair looked between both of them now, the betrayal clearly written on his face as Neria pleaded with him to accept the old woman’s terms. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that Morrigan was capable of looking after herself. But the idea of _another_ person to be responsible for...Neria had proven herself against the Sprawlers already, but he couldn’t shake the sense of duty he felt as the oldest surviving member of their unit, however ridiculous he knew that was considering their circumstances. If he could just be more pragmatic...an additional ally _could_ be useful, even if she wasn’t officially a member of the Corps. They _were_ desperate, after all.

“What will it be, then? If you wait much longer, there may be nothing left of your friend’s body to bring back.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Alistair asked, full of dismay.

Neria continued staring plaintively at him while the old woman smiled even wider.

“Okay, fine. _FINE_! We’ll take her with us back to the Mall. But then -- ”

“Excellent!” The old woman cackled. “I’m sure she will be overwhelmed with _gratitude_ to you for granting her this opportunity to get out and stretch her wings.”

She reached up and pressed a button on an old intercom mounted to the wall. “Morrigan…”

“What is it, _Mother_?”

“Come meet your new…” She looked over at them both appraisingly. “...travel companions.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So! This was originally just a response to a silly prompt about a "funeral home meet-cute" for Alistair and Morrigan (and there is nothing more perfect for them), but as you can see, I got a little carried away. So I'm not sure how to organize this fic yet...but there is more. So much more. Stay tuned as I try to get my shit together. I may have to post flashbacks or prologues or some other crazy shit, but I really needed to get this prompt done for my own mental health (and because I wanted to)!


End file.
